Untitled
by NC Girl
Summary: A short snapshot of events following a hunt in which Sam is slightly injured. Sam's POV.


Untitled

By: NC Girl

_Note: This is my first-ever attempt at any sort of creative writing. I really have no business doing this. I didn't even know what "fanfiction" was until about a year ago. But I've read some truly remarkable stuff over the last year and I must say, it has been inspiring! I wanted to give it a try- despite the fact that it's really scary to put this out for the public to read. This is really just an exercise on my part- babble, if you will. But I would really like to get some truly honest feedback and/or suggestions- good, bad, and ugly._

_Disclaimer: All the usual disclaimers apply. These are not my characters._

The warm pressure against my shoulder was the first thing that I noticed. It was this movement that slowly awoke the rest of my senses. Suddenly, I was being pulled from the dark abyss and thrown back into harsh reality.

"Sam?"

I heard my name, but it was as if the sound was traveling through a long tunnel or pipe – like the large drainage pipes that Dean and I used to play in as kids; like the ones we often find ourselves crawling through during hunts these days. I wanted to reply, but couldn't get any muscles to cooperate. The soft pressure disappeared from my shoulder and reappeared on my cheek.

"C'mon, Sammy, open your eyes."

The voice was significantly clearer and louder than last time and it was followed by a somewhat gentle- somewhat _not_- slap to my face. Dean. Dude. Give a guy a break. I'm beat, man, let me sleep.

I was pretty sure I had not said those words out loud, but that never stopped my brother from reading my mind before.

"Sam, look, you've got to wake up. Really, this is no place for a nap."

And he says I have the "Spidey Senses."

I guess Dean got tired of my passive stance on the matter because suddenly my stomach made a violent roll as my equilibrium spun out of control. A hard surface met my belly and I involuntary gasped as my diaphragm was compressed and the breath was forced out of my lungs. I slowly became aware that Dean had somehow managed to hoist me up and I was dangling from a sloppy version of a fireman's carry position over his shoulder as he quickly moved away from our previous location. It was difficult for me to breathe with his shoulder in my gut, but I could tell it was no picnic for my brother, either. I could clearly hear his gasps and grunts as he walked quickly while carrying his formally "little" brother. I suddenly felt really guilty for hitting that growth spurt the summer after I turned fifteen.

"Dean."

I tried to get Dean's attention- to let him know that I was awake- but my voice was practically nonexistent. It was no surprise that my brother plowed on without any acknowledgement. I tried again.

"Deeeaaaan."

Still no good. And although I still couldn't bring myself to open my eyes, I did find a little strength in my left arm which was dangling down Dean's back, hanging below my inverted torso. I slapped weakly at my brother, connecting with his hip.

"Sammy? You with me?"

Dean sounded awfully hopefully as he slowed to a stop and shifted his weight under mine. With a soft grunt, and a few choice curse words, he maneuvered me so that I slowly slid off his shoulder to stand –if you can call it that- in front of him. I was leaning heavily against him, my face planted on his shoulder, and I tried desperately to hold my own weight. It didn't take long for me to realize that without Dean's support, I would have tumbled, face down, onto the soggy forest floor. And, most likely, it would not have been a graceful descent.

"Dean," I mumbled against his shoulder, "Don't let go yet, man."

The change in altitude and direction left me with one hell of a head-rush which quickly turned into a throbbing headache. It persistently threatened to send me right back into that quiet, dark, abyss where Dean had found me earlier.

"Take your time, kiddo. You took a hard hit- or _dozen_- back there."

Dean was trying to catch his breath, but he ran one hand down the back of my head and gently squeezed the back of my neck while simultaneously maintaining a firm hold on my left bicep with his other.

"But listen, I'd rather not hang out for too long. The car is not much further and it looks like you might need a little needlework on that face of yours."

I took a deep breath and prepared my own, little, personal pep-talk. _Ok, Winchester. Pull yourself together. On the count of three, you're going to pull away from Dean, stand on your own, and open your eyes. Ready? One. Two. Three!_

"Whoa! Easy there, Sparky."

Well, so much for the pep talk. And so much for standing on my own. Apparently, I started to sway or fall because Dean increased the pressure of the hold he had on my left arm and steadied me with the other. The movement made me dizzy again and I suddenly realized why.

"Uh… are my eyes open, Dean? 'Cause I can't see a thing!"

Yes, I am not ashamed to say that I was beginning to panic at this point.

"Yeah, well, Patterson knocked you out with a sucker punch and then used your face as a speed-bag. Your eyes are swollen… uh… among other things. But don't you worry, little brother. I took care of him for ya. Of course," he added quietly, " I think I broke my hand."

Leave it to Dean to go all "big brother" on me. Ok, truth be told, it tugs at the ol'heart strings when he pulls that crap, but now there are two of us that need mending. And did he say something about putting stitches in my face? How in the hell will he be able to do that with a broken hand? Great. If the throbbing on my face was any indication of its condition, I'm going to look like a human baseball when he's done.

"So, what do you think? Can you do this on your own or do you want a ride?"

I could practically see the smirk on Dean's face despite the fact that my eyes were swollen shut. The though of being inverted and carried back to the car made my head and stomach throb in sympathy. And the thought of riding piggy-back… let's not even go there.

"Just make sure you don't steer me into a tree, there, Pathfinder." I grabbed the sleeve of Dean's jacket and prepared to be led the rest of the way to the car.

"Man," Dean started.

Yeah, here it comes.

"I haven't had such a weird looking girl on my arm since the sophomore homecoming dance, Francis. But I have to say, you did a much better job with your makeup than Stephanie Osgood did with hers."

If I could have opened my eyes, I would have rolled them.

"But don't think you're getting lucky just 'cause you got all dolled-up for me. This is a pity date. Seeing as how you got dressed up and had nowhere to go, and all."

Talk about beating a dead horse.

"Dean! Enough! Just pay attention to where you are leading-"

Leave it to Dean to lead me right into the low-hanging branch of a fur tree.

"Watch your step, Francis."

2/18/07.


End file.
